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A Philosophical Teapot.

Anne. Mother, why do you not use that pretty tea-pot that grandmother gave you?

Mother. Why, my dear, do you not remember that the nose is half burnt off?

A. Well, mamma, suppose it is-it does not look very badly, and you have always told me that as long as things were useful, we must not put them aside. M. But it is not useful, Anne; that is the only reason why I have set it up on the high shelf.

A. I do not see why it is not useful, I am sure. I think, mamma, you might as well put away my little spade because the handle is broken off at the top, or John's kite because the wind has taken off a piece of the tail!

M. Well, my dear, this sounds very well; but let us consider the matter a little. Of what use is a tea-pot?

A. Why, to hold tea, I suppose! M. Well, what is tea-a solid body? A. Oh no; it is what my book of natural philosophy would call a liquid. Oh, that book is very interesting; wait a minute while I get it, mamma-here it is!

M. What is one of the properties of liquids?

A. Let me see-oh, here I have it. Liquids always tend to an equilibri

um.

M. Do you understand what that means, my dear?

A. Yes; my mistress explained it to me the other morning. Water or any other liquid always seeks a level; that is, if water is put into a bowl, it will be equally as high on one side as on the other. If the bowl stands uneven, the liquid will still be perfectly level.

M. A very good explanation, Anne. But now to the proof. Can you tell me

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M. Ah! but can you fill it? that is the question.

A. Why, mamma, how absurd it would be to suppose I could not fill it! But let me try; there is nothing like trying, after all. (She brings the tea-pot.) Here it is, poor neglected thing. Indeed, I do not see why I cannot fill it, unless there are holes in the bottom or sides.

M. No, I believe it is sound in those respects. But come, here is some water; try it. But first get the waiter-I do not want my table wet.

A. Oh! never fear, mamma; I will not spill it. (Pouring the water into the tea-pot.) There, there, mamma, you see I have got it half full already. But dear me, how's this? I declare, the water is running out of the nose as fast as I pour it in! Why, what does it mean?

M. Just think, my dear, of what your philosophy says about liquids, and you will immediately see why the water runs out of the nose. How high does the water remain in the tea-pot?

A. Just as high as the top of the nose. Ah! I see now; that is the level of the water, and it can go no higher in the body of the tea-pot than it does in

the nose.

Wonderful! Then, mamma, it must be that it is necessary to have the nose as high as the top of the tea-pot. Oh! now I understand perfectly why this is of no use.

Thank you, mamma; I like these practical lessons in philosophy. But I am ashamed that I did not understand it at once.

M. This shows you, my dear Anne, that it is not only necessary to have knowledge, but that it is nearly useless when it is not applied properly. Here

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THE following story, showing what exertion the horse is capable of undergoing, would be almost incredible, were it not well authenticated.

Many years ago, a violent gale of wind setting in from north-northwest, a vessel in the road at the Cape of Good Hope dragged her anchors, was forced on the rocks, and bilged; and while the greater part of the crew fell an immediate sacrifice to the waves, the remainder were seen from the shore, struggling for their lives, by clinging to the different pieces of the wreck. The sea ran

dreadfully high, and broke over the sailors with such amazing fury, that no boat whatever could venture off to their

assistance.

Meanwhile, a planter, considerably advanced in life, had come on horseback from his farm to be a spectator of the shipwreck. His heart was melted at the sight of the unhappy seamen, and knowing the bold and enterprising spirit of his horse, and his particular excellence as a swimmer, he instantly determined to make a desperate effort for their deliverance.

He alighted and blew a little brandy into his horse's nostrils, when, again seating himself in the saddle, he instantly pushed into the midst of the breakers. At first both disappeared, but it was not long before they floated on the surface and swam up to the wreck; when, taking with him two men, each of whom held by one of his boots, the planter brought them safe to shore.

This perilous expedition he repeated seven times, and saved fourteen lives. But on his return the eighth time, his horse being much fatigued, and meeting a most formidable wave, he lost his balance, and was overwhelmed in a moment. The horse swam safely to the shore, but his gallant rider was no more !

The Moon.

IT is night! The stars are so distant that they seem to be very small; but the moon, though really less than the stars, is nearer, and therefore appears to be larger.

It is a very interesting object, and is even more talked about than the sun. At one time it seems like a silver bow, hung in the west It increases in size, till it looks like a large bowl. It grows larger and larger, till it is quite round, and is then fancied by some people to resemble a mighty green cheese.

The moon does not shine at all times. Even when it is in the sky above us, it gives no light during the day, for the sun is so much brighter, that it appears quite dim. And often at night it is hidden behind the earth, and gives us no light.

But when it does shine at night, it is indeed beautiful. We cannot look at the sun with the naked eye, for it is too bright. But we can look at the moon,

and though it seems almost like a ball of melted metal, yet we can see figures upon it.

Some persons imagine, that they can see the face of a man in the moon, and others that they can spy the figure of a crooked old woman. But those who have looked at it with telescopes, tell us, that it is a world, with mountains, and rivers, and valleys upon its surface. There is very little doubt that animals and people live upon it.

Would it not be pleasant, if we could sail through the air, and go up to the moon, and come back and tell the people of this world what sort of place the moon is, and what kind of folks the moonites are?

But this cannot be. We may travel by railroads over the land, and by ships across the waters of this world, but we have no ladder long enough to reach to other worlds. We must therefore, for the present, stay where we are and be content.

But I was talking of the moon. Can you tell me why a dog will often bark at it almost all night? If you can, you can do more than any one else.

But you may ask what good the moon does to us. In the first place, it is very beautiful, and gives us great pleasure. It is also useful, as it frequently shines at night, and seems to relieve us partly from the darkness. The landscape is often charming when viewed by moonlight, and water never looks so lovely as when the moon is shining upon

it.

Beside this, the moon causes that ebbing and flowing of the ocean called the tides. These keep it from being stagnant and prevent its becoming putrid. Were it not for the moon, the whole ocean would be unfit for the fishes that live in it, and they would all die. Men and beasts, too, would also perish from the unhealthiness of the land, were not the sea kept pure by the tides.

Importance of Attention:

A DIALOGUE.

Charles sitting with his book in his

hand; his mother at work.

Charles. Mother! is it almost schooltime?

Mother. No; you have full half an hour.

Charles. Only half an hour? Will you hear me try to say this lesson again? Mother. No, for I am sure you will say it no better than before.

Charles. Why, mother?

Mother. Because you have not been studying. I have been looking at you from time to time, and have scarcely seen your eyes fixed once on your book.

Charles. I was only watching Jerry, for fear he would weed up my young balsams.

Mother. I fancy Jerry knows what he is about.

Charles. Well; I will study now. Mother. Do you generally whistle when you study, Charles?

Charles. Was I whistling? Mother. Yes, and with your eyes fixed on my canary bird.

Charles. Well, mother, I can't help it. This is the hardest and stupidest lesson that ever was.

Mother. And yet you told me your cousin Richard learned it, yesterday, in twenty minutes.

Charles. Then it is I that am stupid, I suppose.

Mother. I rather think not. I believe your memory is as good as Richard's.

Charles. Oh, mother! he always learns his lessons quicker than I do. Mother. And does that prove that his memory is better?

Charles. To be sure it does. Mother. When you are at play, does he remember things better than you do? Charles. Why, no, I believe not.

Mother. Did not you tell us as much about the lecture the other night, when you came home, as he did?

Charles. Yes, and more too; father said I did.

Mother. That required memory certainly. I do not think you have any right to lay blame on any natural defect.

Charles. Oh, I did not mean to say that; but all I know is that Richard gets his lessons quicker than I do; and what can the reason be? He is not three weeks older than I am, and don't seem a bit cleverer than I am about other things.

Mother. Did you ever happen to sit near him, when he was studying?

Charles. Yes, that I have, and I would rather sit next any boy in school. Mother. Why?

Charles. Oh, I don't know; there's no comfort in it. He is as dumpy and cross over his books as a dog with a bone. He won't let anybody speak to him.

Mother. What, not to ask a reasonable question?

Charles. Oh! as to that, he helps me sometimes, when I get stuck; he is always good-natured enough about that; but what I mean is, if I ask him to look at anything funny, or want to talk to him about any of our plays, a minute, he says I disturb him, and take off his attention; and if I go on, just to fidget him a little, he takes up his books and marches off somewhere else.

Mother. He complains that off his attention, does he?

you take

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Mother. I can tell it to you in one word which you used just now. It is as good as "Open Sesame" in the play of the Forty Thieves which you read the other day.

Charles. What can it be?

Mother. Attention-Charles-attention that will open the door of your mind and let the lesson in.

Charles. Oh dear! I wish bawling the word out aloud would answer the purpose.

Mother. I cannot say that it will, so my comparison is not a good one; but I wished to fix your attention, so I referred to something that had amused you. But, in good earnest, Charles, the only reason why Richard learns quicker than you do is, that he never allows himself to think of anything else while he is getting his lesson. You speak of yourself as studying as long as you are holding the book in your hand, though in fact you are not studying one quarter of the time. What is studying, Charles? Charles. Trying to fix something in my mind.

Mother. Very good; a better answer than I expected. Now, were you trying to fix your lesson in your mind while you were watching Jerry? or while you were scratching with your pencil on that window-seat? or whistling to my canary bird?

Charles. No, indeed.

Mother. Yet during the three quarters of an hour you have sat at the window, with a book in your hand, these have been your principal employments. Once or twice you began to read the lesson over to yourself, but something would draw off your attention in the midst; your thoughts were gone from it in an instant; the slight impression it had made was effaced; and when you returned to your task, you were just where you had been ten minutes before. Yet at nine o'clock you would jump up

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Charles, (laughing.) That's just my whine, mother; but the plain truth of the matter is, I do get discouraged. I don't see any use in working so hard.

Mother. But you would not have to work so hard-or at least not near so long, if you would go to work in the right way.

Charles. But it is the working at all that I object to, mother. I don't know but I might like study better if I could see any use in it; but as long as I can read and write, I shan't look like a fool; and what is the use of cracking my brains about anything more?

Mother. I should be very sorry to have you crack your brains with study, Charles. Do you feel as if there were any danger of it?

Charles. Why no, not exactly. But why need I study?

Mother. You cannot conceive of any pleasure in acquiring knowledge, then?

Charles. Oh, yes; I like to know all I can by reading interesting books; I like to read some histories, and biographies, and travels. That all comes very easy; that is amusement.

Mother. Are you sure that while skimming books in this manner, for amusement, you are really laying up much knowledge that you can make useful? Do you ever stop to reflect upon it and arrange it? or is it all jumbled together in your mind? Have you never made strange blunders in talking about the very books you had read?

Charles. Why, yes, I must own that I have; and I have got laughed at, sometimes.

Mother. That is only one of the evils to which you will be exposed by being

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